


Songs In the Dark

by PloKoon



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Drama & Romance, Explicit Consent, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Pining, Tragic Romance, True Love, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 03:18:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18842548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PloKoon/pseuds/PloKoon
Summary: “Let in your little bird.” She put a hand on the door, but he didn’t move. “Please...” He gave her a questioning look and heaved a sigh.“They’ll have my head in the morning, but you know I can’t say no when you look at me like that.”A SanSan story, set after the battle against the Night King. Jonsa jealousy at the end.





	Songs In the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Still not sure if this is a one-shot or if it will have another chapter, but posting it as complete for now.

On the one hand, the worst thing about a castle was that it was impossible to keep any secrets in it for long.

On the other hand, if it was information that you wanted, it was the best place to be.

However, Sansa didn’t need to look for Sandor to find him. There was only one giant burned man here, and she was currently standing by his door, gathering her mind to dare a knock.

Her hand acted before she’d given it permission to, but now it was done all the same.

She’d prepared his room herself, and she knew he was in there, though it took a while before she heard him stir. Finally, heavy steps came towards her, the door was unlocked and opened soundlessly. He didn’t look surprised, just tired.

“There’s only one person who knocks on my door like that.” His voice was soft and distant, and she gave him a quiet smile. “But I have no idea what you’re doing here.” It was well past midnight, people had been steadily drifting away from the feast for the last hour, and so she’d decided to leave as well. Her feet had led her here, she was a bit drunk, but not enough to have lost control of her senses.

“Let in your little bird.” She put a hand on the door, but he didn’t move. “Please...” He gave her a questioning look and heaved a sigh.

“They’ll have my head in the morning, but you know I can’t say no when you look at me like that.” And then he let her in. The room was warm, almost a little too warm, the fire was dying and the bedclothes were a mess. She must have really woken him.

His armour and weapons, cloak and helmet, lay haphazardly in a pile in the far corner of the room. No candles were lit, and he made no attempt to remedy that. The darkness wasn’t complete, though slowly getting there as the flames died into embers.

“You were sleeping.” Sansa sat down next to him on the bed, unbid, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“It’s late.” There was a hint of sleep in his voice still, and he didn’t look at her. “Again, what are you doing here?” He didn’t sound bothered as such, just confused. She put a hand on his shoulder, and he met her eyes again.

“This might be the last time I really see you.” And she brushed some hair away from his face, and he didn’t pull away. He just gazed at her in silence, and leaned into her touch as she caressed his scarred cheek with a gentle hand. “Just one last time, let me be your little bird. I know what I said before, but…” She sighed the smallest of sighs. “You’re the only person who ever really knew that part of me.” A slight blush tinted her cheeks. “If you’ll have me, that is.” Sandor closed his eyes.

“If I’ll have you...” The familiar sound of his deep chuckle warmed her insides. He put his hand on hers, and kissed her palm. “You know I’m not a knight from one of your songs.” Her smile grew wider.

“You’re the finest knight I ever knew.” He scoffed at her statement, but didn’t respond any further.

He sat there on the edge of his bed, looking away from her again, something close to happiness in his eyes. The embers burned faintly, and though the light was almost gone, she had the feeling that this was the clearest she would ever get to see him.

She shrugged off her cloak and let it fall to the floor, unbuttoned the collar of her dress and started to undo her braids. He watched her, ever silent, darkness over his face from turning his back to what little light was left, but she felt his eyes follow her every move. It didn’t bother her, and it didn’t feel good, it just _was_. They just were. If only for one blessed moment, he was her knight, and she was his lady, and in their own way, they were contented in that.

“It’s strange…” Sansa said carefully as she finally let her hair fall down her back and over her shoulders. “Since you came to Winterfell, I feel as though we’re the most normal people around.” They shared a small laugh.

“I don’t do politics.” He shifted slightly on the mattress, moving one of the pillows back up to the top of the bed. “I’m busy trying to live.” She shrugged slightly.

“Gods know if people had a thimble of your honesty, life would get so much easier.” She saw his chest lift and sink with another deep sigh.

“Why not start by telling me what you’re really doing here.” The question didn’t surprise her as such, but she blushed all the same.

“I want you as close as you’ll have me.” He stiffened briefly, but long enough for her to notice. “And I want to give you the song I never sang to you in King’s Landing. Any you want." He answered nothing.

Sansa walked over to the door, made sure that it was locked, and moved to stand in front of him.

“Tell me no, and I’ll stop.” She lifted her hands to the buttons on her bust, undid one of them, and waited.

Sandor was quiet.

She undid the rest, but he made no sound.

Then she stepped closer to him, took his face in her hands, kissed his forehead, and with a sigh he sunk his face into her soft linen underdress. She ran her hands through his hair a few times before her heavy velvet dress fell to the floor.

They remained like that for an indefinable amount of time before she gathered some courage to continue, putting his large hands on her hips, leaning forward to hold him close. His breathing was steady and calm, and he burned hot against her body. The times she’d felt as safe as this were few.

“Are you okay?” Her voice was more quiet than she’d liked it to be, but he nodded into her chest, and a small smile crept over her face. “Okay.”

There was a rare vulnerability in him, in the way he touched her, in the carefulness of his hands as they glided up towards her waist. When he looked up at her again, his eyes were shining, and Sansa felt her chest swell. Only one other person had ever looked at her like that, but he didn’t matter, not right now.

“Are you sure about this?” His voice was low and hesitant, and she nodded through her smile.

“Completely.” But something else was still bothering him, even if he seemed to let out a sigh of relief. She ran her hands over his wide shoulders. “What’s wrong?” He furrowed his brows slightly.

_He was, technically, old enough to be her father. She was his little bird, and he didn’t want to taint her. She was too good for him, and he was nothing._

“I’m…” He sounded broken. Then again, he was a pretty broken man. “I’m not what you deserve.” She gave a small shrug and lifted her dress slightly to the side so she could sit in his lap.

“Nobody deserves anything. That’s not how life works. Things just _are_.” He hid his face in the crook of her neck. “But I _want_ you close to me, as close as you’ll have me, like I’ve already said.” She kissed the scars on his cheek, she could feel his heart beating against her own, and he wrapped his arms around her and drew her closer, as close as they could get.

“I do want it, I’m just…” But he didn’t continue. A small, sweet laugh escaped Sansas throat.

“I promise I won’t hurt you.” And then that chuckle came back, and she felt his body relax again.

“Well, if you promise.” He lifted his head towards her, she felt his breath on her mouth, and a mist fell over her senses. This was what it meant to be. This was what it meant to want.

The first kiss was gentle, almost chaste, testing. The second, she closed her eyes and felt his hands trace a path down her back down to her hips, and they held her fast, harder than before. The third, she closed her arms around him and let him lift her onto the bed, slowly, feeling his hands burn under her thighs.

She kissed him as though she’d never been touched before, and why not? It was the first time that she herself had ever really wanted to be kissed. He was the first person that she’d ever really chosen, and maybe he knew it too.

His hands weren’t soft, but they made her know that he cared. They were patient, loving, and waited for her consent before they moved any further. He was everything she’d ever wanted.

Her slip had slid up her body, and he ran his hand over her exposed leg, over her thigh, up toward her waist and under the fabric towards her chest. She shivered, heat pooling in her stomach, and started to undo the collar of his shirt. A low moan escaped her lips as he ghosted his hand over the softness of her breast, and he pulled her closer then, trapping her arms between them. She felt his hardness between her thighs, and gazed at him through half-lidded eyes accustomed to the darkness. His were closed, focusing, but not tense.

“I need you.” She was low and pleading, panting between kisses, her heartbeat quick and shallow in her chest like her breathing. In that moment, she needed him more than she’d ever needed anything.

He kissed her deeper, loosening his grip on her, and slowly slid a hand down between her legs. She trembled as soon an he was near her, and she felt him groan against her. When his fingers reached her wetness, Sansa was utterly and completely lost. She arched into his hand, eyes opening wide to find him studying her carefully.

“Gods you’re perfect.” His voice was more of a humming sound than anything else, and it built in her. She wanted to answer, but nothing came out of her but another throaty moan, and he closed his eyes, overwhelmed.

When he pulled his hand away, Sansa thought she might lose her mind. She was so close, and she needed him, more of him, badly.

He sat up, pulled his shirt off and helped her slip out of her dress, smallclothes, everything piled unto her cloak on the floor. She didn’t feel shy, and there wasn’t anything awkward about their nakedness. It just _was_ , and she felt safe, and the more of his body she saw, the more the heat built up in her.

She placed wet kisses on his mouth and throat, drinking in the taste of his skin, and he smelled like leather and soldier and safety and _sex._ He kicked his trousers off, and then she was back against him, feeling him hot between her thighs. Her whimpers and moans grew quick and restless, she felt his chest vibrating from a low chuckle, and it woke her slightly from her wanton state. Two could play this game. Well, two _should._

Clearing her head with a deep breath, she slid her hands over his neck, shoulders and chest, over his torso and down between his legs. His breath hitched as she began stroking him, tantalizingly slow, and he grabbed at the sheet and her hip in slight desperation.

“I should have known you were a tease…” But by the tone of his voice, he really didn’t seem to mid. She gave him a crooked smile.

“You really should have.” And then she stopped, and he groaned hard against her. She kissed him, still smiling, and pushed him onto his back. He gave in without the shadow of a fight.

She straddled him, bent down to kiss him, and he placed his hands on her thighs.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” He was smiling back at her, even if he was clearly frustrated. “But you’re still perfect.” She sat up then, back straight, took his hands and hers and traced them from her legs, up over her body to rest on her waist.

“Just enjoy the ride.”

She was wet, and though the size of him wasn’t unexpected, she still had a hard time taking it all in, quite literally. He didn’t move under her, didn’t thrust into her, even if she could see that it took all the focus he could muster. She needed time to get used to him being inside her, rocked her hips, and rode him carefully a few times before she tried taking all of him. When she did, she lasted about ten seconds before the climax washed over her, almost falling back onto him before she caught herself. Still, he remained calm beneath her, voice filled with a need he didn’t acknowledge just yet. breath strained, and he looked up at her through heavily lidded eyes.

As she came back down, she figured to hell with it.

She threw her hair back, pressed his hands for him to grip her tighter, and he thrusted deeply into her as she felt another climax quickly building up. This time she peaked, she didn’t stop moving, and rode him hard as her walls clenched him tighter, carrying him with her into a mutual release. He held on to her almost painfully hard, enough to make her wonder if she’d bruise, but she reveled in it.

Finally, she collapsed on top of him, wrapped in their shared heat and wetness and smell of sex. She wasn’t sure of where she ended and where he started, arms and legs and hair wrapped around each other in the wonderful mess they formed.

Their heartbeats gradually slowed down, their breaths grew more even, but her lips were still swollen from his kisses and he held her close as ever. The room was pitch black, the fire completely dead, and she pulled up a blanket to cover them. He hummed at her as she slid back down to lay down next to him, pulled her close, and she rested her head on his arm. They kissed again, gently, in a way she imagined that all secrets lovers did, and it made her body tingle. She laughed faintly at the thought.

“Hm?” The sound of him woke her from her thoughts.

“I’m just being silly again…” She kissed his cheek, giggling happily. “It’s really nothing.” His hand caressed her face, and she felt dreamily happy. A new, different kind of happiness that she never wanted to end.

“Well…” He started, voice peaceful and satisfied. “I think my lady promised her knight a song.” She blushed, but kissed him again.

“Anything you want to hear.”

*

When Sansa stepped out of Sandors quarters it was well past daybreak. The castle was alive with activity, and there wasn’t anywhere for her to hide. Holding her head high, mind in a dreamy state, she floated more than walked through the corridors up towards her own chambers. Her hair was a mess, her collar unbuttoned, cheeks rosy and lips clearly bruised from a long night of having been thoroughly kissed. She felt shameless and free and beautiful, and nothing could take that away from her.

There had been more than one song.

He’d had her, she’d had him, they’d had _each other_ several times over that night.

_She regretted nothing._

She’d left him, sleeping, after the final song was over. She’d left him a handkerchief embroidered with her initials, just like they did in the stories.

Wishing desperately that he’d return to Winterfell again once the war was over, she heaved a sigh and decided that she’d let herself nurture the tiniest sliver of hope, but not more than that. It would break her heart.

Her footsteps echoed against the stone walls as she made her way up the stairs, and she felt an aching soreness straining the inside of her thighs, but she didn’t mind. She stretched her arms over her head, yawned, and smiled at Brienne standing guard by her door. She did not look pleased, and made a very stiff bow.

“You almost had me worried my lady.” Sansa smiled widely at her.

“Everything’s fine. Sorry for the trouble.” Then Brienne raised a brow, and to her surprise, gave her a small smile.

“Very well my lady. But speaking about trouble, you should know...” Brienne leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Jon has been in there for quite some time. And for being made of stone, this castle sure has some very thin walls.” Sansa had the decency to blush.

“Thank you for the warning. I’ll see you later.” And with that, Sansa went to face what she was sure to be a minor storm.

The door was unlocked, a fire was crackling pleasantly, but sitting by it was a man with a face that spelled vexation. His head snapped up to meet hers, but he didn’t get up. He took in her appearance, frowned, and turned his face away again. The cloak that she’d made for him in Castle Black hung over his chair, and Ghost slept in the sunlight falling in from one of the tall windows.

“Sit.” It was an order, but she didn’t care for being commanded about.

“No.” He stared at her in disbelief, an angry shade of red climbing from his neck towards his face.

“Sit down.” She shrugged at him.

“Or what?” His eyes grew dark, but there wasn’t anything left in her to make her fear him, or anyone else for that matter.

Jon rose, heaved a heavy sigh, and walked over to her. He leaned in, face so close to hers they nearly touched, but she didn’t flinch. And then she noticed that though his body looked as though it was burning with rage, his eyes were… sad? This was the face of a broken man.

“I can’t believe you. You were… With him.” His voice was trembling. “I’ve been worried sick.” She cocked her head to the side before she answered in a tauntingly soft voice.

“No you haven’t.” He was caught off-guard, and his face betrayed him. “This is a castle. You’ve known where I’ve been all along. You could have barged in and pulled me back up here, but you didn’t.” He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, and so he closed it again. She waited.

When he finally spoke, he sounded exhausted.

“You’re my sister. Of course I worry.” She gave him a look of deepest disbelief.

“And so you have definitely had this conversation with Arya, right?” Jon swallowed hard. “Because she’s younger than me, and surely that makes you worry more. It’s only right.”

“Don’t do this.” His eyes were still shining and dark, and there was pleading and desperation in his voice. “Please don’t do this.” She gave him a blank stare.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean-”

_“He can’t have you.”_

And as the realization of his own words fell over him, the dread of them made him storm out of the room, and she heard the door slam behind her.

Yes, there had only been one other man who had ever looked at her the way that Sandor did, but he was terrified of his own shadow.


End file.
